


Loss

by porcelainepeony



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Drabble, M/M, Prideshipping, Scandalshipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-22 17:48:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9618506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/porcelainepeony/pseuds/porcelainepeony
Summary: Just how many times did the Pharaoh expect Seto to put the pieces of his heart back together?





	

Word Count: ~660  
Notes: Just a drabble for a friend. Written on my phone in like 10 minutes, so I apologize for the errors. Post-manga. Pre-TG and DSoD. It’s practically prideshipping and scandalshipping, but Atem is gone, so it’s mostly just Kaiba suffering. :D

 

xxx

 

Blinding.

 

Though the words that left Yuugi’s mouth were soft, the message was loud, unforgiving, chaotic.

 

Seto stood in place, blue eyes slightly narrowed, facial expression convincingly set between nonchalance and boredom. He didn’t care about whatever it was Yuugi was talking about, Seto told himself. He didn’t care to know about the Pharaoh and how he recovered his memories and his name, how he and Yuugi dueled one final time, how he supposedly moved on and left--

left them all--

 

left Seto--

 

left Seto _again_.

“Get out,” Seto commanded, voice sharp but wrapped in agony and disillusionment. He turned, quickly, avoiding Yuugi’s eyes, hoping the smaller boy hadn’t seen the pain—betrayal, anguish, _desperation_ —flicker in his expression.

 

“Kaiba-kun,” Yuugi answered, voice softer than it had been, “you’re not the only one who--”

 

“I said get out, Yuugi. Don’t make me repeat myself.” Yuugi didn’t move, though pain churned in his voice, almost mirroring Seto’s. To cut Yuugi’s protest—he knew it would come—Seto walked toward his office door, opened it, and stepped outside. “Have it your way. Mokuba will see you out when you’re ready,” he added, voice empty yet quivering. He heard Yuugi make a noise of protest—a whine? a cry?—but ignored it in favor of leaving. He couldn’t stand to be around Yuugi, around someone who looked so much like _him._

 

Seto stormed into his room like an angry child being sent to bed without dinner. The door slammed closed. Seto’s hands shook. His thoughts raced. His heart twisted and coiled and shattered all over again.

 

Just how many times did the Pharaoh expect Seto to put the pieces of his heart back together?

 

Seto threw himself in bed, eyes consumed by the ceiling. The room was big, spacious, but Seto felt the walls collapsing. A part of him wished they did.

 

He was overreacting and he knew it, but he couldn’t fathom a world without _him_. Not again.

 

Closing his eyes, Seto calmed his breathing. Sometimes, when he gave in to his dreams and reveries, Seto could see the Pharaoh. He was almost real in his mind, standing in front of Seto with his back straight, adornments of gold hugging his arms and wrists and neck. It was all Seto could do not to reach out, not to press a hand against the Pharaoh’s cheek, not to tremble and ask _why_.

 

Why did you leave me then?

 

Why did you leave me again?

 

The times Seto did reach out, his hand was his own but different all at once. Jewelry decorated his wrists too, skin sun-kissed, hands much more open and gentle than Seto ever remembered them being. Seto’s hands would take the Pharaoh’s, intertwine their fingers, and clasp as if afraid to lose the only light source that existed. These dreams were strange, but comforting, for in them, the Pharaoh would smile and hold Seto’s hands tightly. The two of them were connected in those moments, and though it was only a dream, Seto thought he could hear the Pharaoh promise him they would reunite, the words deliriously soothing and addicting.

 

When Seto opened his eyes, his grasp was empty. No warmth permeated. No flesh to press against remained. No delicate fingers, no strong hands, no taunting smirk or proud back, no Pharaoh, no _Atem_ —none of it existed anymore.

 

Seto sat up in bed. He shed no tears. Millennia ago, he had mourned enough for his Pharaoh. He had cried and wept and longed and waited. The Seto now didn't cry. Instead, he hardened his heart—if only until he recovered what he had lost—and moved forward.

 

Because even if faint, Seto still felt the Pharaoh’s blinding rays. They reached out to him, beckoning him closer, calling to him like a siren’s melody.

 

Even if it took him another 3000 years, Seto knew he would find his way back to the sun. And the next time they met, he wouldn’t let the Pharaoh leave.


End file.
